sic transit gloria
by heretowinbitch
Summary: deadlyladynightshade on tumblr said: Prompt: Post Season 2. Beth comes home to find her pearls on the door. O O - "we're free." she says it brightly — maybe too brightly — with a practiced smile perfectly plastered over her lips. she needs to sell this, beth knows, because in order for ruby and annie to be on board, they have to see her confidence, they have
1. Chapter 1

"we're free."

she says it brightly — maybe _too_ brightly — with a practiced smile perfectly plastered over her lips. she needs to sell this, beth knows, because in order for ruby and annie to be on board, they have to see her confidence, they have to see that this can _work_.

( what she _can't_ let them see is the way she feels a little hollow inside, like when she loosed the first bullet from the chamber of rio's gun, with it went a piece of her heart, a piece of her sanity. by the time he fell to the floor, something else fell too, something crashed to the ground and shattered beyond repair and the only way for her to move forward is to bury it )

it takes a little convincing, a lot of practice, but there's something satisfying about doing it on their own, not being beholden to someone else —about not having their fates hanging over their heads with every step.

turner is gone — maybe not for good, but gone _for now_ — and by the time he resurfaces ( because beth _knows_ he will, knows that eventually the gratitude for saving his life will be overshadowed by the humiliation she put him through ), she plans to have things running so seamlessly, that he'll see nothing but the mother he told her to be.

* * *

a few months later, and they've all sort of settled into a routine.

the dealership took a hit after the raid, but dean managed to get it back up and running — with beth's help — and things are almost back to normal. officially, she still manages boland motors with him, they trade off days at the dealership in the same way they trade off days with the kids. it _works_, and it works better than she'd expected, better than beth had thought them capable after everything that had happened. turns out, they're much better at co-parenting as separate entities than as a married couple. and she's content with that.

unofficially, her job is something else entirely —something that isn't printed on any books, in any ledger. she's not using the dealership to move the money, because she promised dean it would remain separate, clean, free from anything that might put it in jeopardy again. but beth has some ideas in the works, some planned investments that could make things easier — both in making her seem legit, and in providing an opportunity for the business.

she's returning from one of these investment opportunities — a meeting with a real estate agent who manages properties in the greater villages. it's a long shot, because beth's credit is nonexistent, but the guy she met with didn't seem all that concerned after she'd pointedly flashed him a bit of cash when she went digging in her purse for a pen. it brings a smile to her face now, as she climbs out of the van, because things seem to be falling into place nicely, and _finally_, she thinks, finally maybe it'll stop feeling like she's **drowning**.

so engrossed is she in these thoughts, that beth almost misses it. she'd unlocked the door, closed it behind her, tapped in the code for the security system ( call her paranoid, but she'd been overdue for an upgrade ), and set her purse down on the bench, turning toward the kitchen. but she doesn't make it even one step from the entryway — frozen with one foot hovered in the air, poised to take that step — before something registers in the back of her mind.

and she can _hear _ it, the way it sort of swishes back and forth, the momentum of the door closing causing it to sway from where it hangs on the doorknob. she can't bring herself to look, yet, gaze shooting back to the panel by the door where she'd just pressed in her code. it had been armed when she entered, which means someone had to bypass it to get in. so much for _ security_.

her heart finds its way into her throat, threatening to choke her, and beth is already struggling to breathe when she finally turns, the pounding in her ears seeming an almost fitting percussion to the swishing sound as it begins to slow. seeing them hanging there — it's reminiscent of another time, a callback to the start, and that feels ominous in its own right — does that make this the _end_?

her hand is shaking as she reaches for them, the iridescent shimmer almost blinding in the light that peeks in through the window, and beth swallows hard when her fingers make contact with the pearls. she wants to not believe it, wants to imagine this is some cruel joke, maybe played by one of his boys, someone who isn't pleased with the way things went down.

but no. it's too _personal_, means too much, speaks too many warnings, too many **threats**.

and she knows that's what this is. it isn't a calling card, not in the way it had been when she'd done the same, but a threat. it's a warning that she was never free to begin with, that she's still barely keeping her head above water, and now comes the _storm_.

why then — as she pulls them free from the door, thumb pressing over each pearl reverently as though they're some holy thing, and she's silently speaking her _prayers_ — does beth suddenly feel **relieved**?


	2. Chapter 2

it starts out innocently enough.

it's lingering a little longer by the swings at the park where they used to meet for drops.

it's picking up coffee at the cafe where they met a few times rather than making it at home.

it's driving by the bar ( that bar, their bar ) a little too slowly - slowly enough that she can scan the place through the window.

after a few weeks go by with no sign of him, beth starts to wonder if she's losing her mind - if the pearls had been a figment of her imagination ( they weren't, she confirms this by reaching into her purse, running her fingers over them where they always sit these days, tucked into the zipper pocket ), or a sick joke played on her by someone who isn't rio but knows enough about their dealings to have access to the necklace.

the thought that she'd killed him had hollowed something out within beth, planted little daggers of ice deeply in her heart that began to spread immediately through her veins until all she felt was cold. somehow, she'd been able to push it down, bury the despair wrought by her own actions by pushing herself forward, trying to revel in her newfound freedom, trying to focus on what happens next.

she'd fooled annie and ruby well enough, and dean - as per usual - had been oblivious. but that's all a testament to the way she's been lying to all of them for just about her entire life. one day, maybe she'll learn to be honest with the people she loves - maybe even with herself.

now that she knows he's out there somewhere, though, beth is a nervous wreck.

"so, uh, you wanna tell us what all this is about?" ruby's eyes are wide and accusatory, her brows comically high like they're attempting to climb into her hairline, and along with the word this, she gestures emphatically to beth, her hand dragging down the air between them as if to indicate her friend from head to toe. this whole scene earns her a laugh from annie who sobers the moment ruby shoots her a look and annie begins nodding instead, until they're both in cahoots and beth feels a little bit ganged up on. she huffs, confusion threading its way through her features as though she really has no idea where they're coming from. "what do you mean?"

"come on beth," annie interjects with her own dramatic hand gestures, and she wonders if they're aware of just how ridiculous they seem about something that is so not a big deal. "you've been like, a zombie for weeks now. it's like -" she picks up the salt shaker from the table and holds it to her ear like a phone " - earth to beth, come in beth." the salt shaker is sat back down as beth rolls her eyes and annie shakes her head, ruby nodding along as though this entire display makes perfect sense. "you're like, spacetastic these days, what gives? is deansie giving you shit again?"

"am i a zombie or an alien, your metaphors are losing traction." she takes a sip from her drink, smiling at the waitress who drifts over to refill their waters. once she's gone - leaving ruby and annie the opening to stare at her expectantly once more - beth shrugs. "dean is fine, the kids are fine, everything's fine." she hasn't told them about rio, about the necklace, about her trips to his part of town that are becoming more and more frequent as radio silence persists.

the thing is, she's pretty sure he's not waiting for her to come looking - pretty sure he'll appear when he's good and ready and it'll have the most jarring impact. the last thing she needs is for ruby and annie to be as paranoid as her. this is on beth, after all. she hadn't been willing to accept responsibility that day in his loft, but she's got real blood on her hands now, and she's not about to let it stain theirs too, not this time.

still, they're clearly not buying her lies, and she throws her hands up a little, rolling her eyes. "i just haven't been getting much sleep lately." this, at least, is not a lie - even if she is omitting the part about what has been keeping her up ( every shadow that crawls across her bedroom floor, every sound in the darkness, every pair of headlights that pass by the french doors ). the security system is worthless, that she already knows, and if he wants his revenge, she wants to be ready for him.

that seems almost impossible, though, because she's never been ready for him, and the him beth had thought she knew - at least for a little while - might not even exist. fitting, perhaps, that he's a ghost story in his own right, persisting after death - or what should have been death.

the two look almost apologetic by the time her thoughts bring her back to the here and now, and beth feels guilty for the lies. these are the most important people in the world to her, it's ruby, annie, and her children - the people for whom she'd die if she had to - and she hates feeling like she's disappointing them.

in an effort to pull the focus off of how she's feeling ( and what she's not saying ), beth pulls out a folder and lays it on the table that sits between the three of them. "so, i went to look at that apartment building yesterday, it has a storefront on the first level and two floors with five units each above it. i think it could really work." she opens the folder and lets them see the photos, and the rest of the afternoon continues with talks of business.

* * *

another week passes, and beth stops looking for him around every corner - there's no point in getting worked up over nothing, she tells herself.

and that's what it is - nothing. no contact, no more gifts at her house, no showing up in her kitchen, no black cadillac parked on her street.

their business plans are moving along, a third meeting with their shady little real estate agent and they've almost got a deal.

so what if she pulls the pearls from her bag the day she goes to sign the contract? it doesn't mean anything.

it doesn't mean anything when she fixes the delicate clasp around the back of her neck, letting them settle against the hollow of her throat.

it doesn't mean anything when her fingertips keep moving up, brushing over them as though they might give her some invisible power.

it doesn't mean anything.

* * *

she's pleased with herself, smiling brightly throughout the rest of the day while going about the rest of her errands.

the paperwork is finished, and in no time at all they'll have a real legitimate business venture - with which to hide their real, not-so-legal ones.

so maybe beth is floating a little on that momentum, maybe she's letting her guard down more than she usually would ( even before coming to terms with the probability of rio being alive ).

whatever the reason - as she stands in the girls section at target, looking for new hair clips for jane ( because she somehow keeps losing them all ), beth is notably distracted.

so it should come as no surprise that when she feels a soft touch against the back of her neck, beth all but jumps out of her skin.

she doesn't turn around, doesn't need to when his laughter chases her obvious reaction - an achingly familiar sound that somehow strikes both fear and desire within her in equal measure.

her body is frozen in place - all stiff, straight lines permeated with tension. and he laughs again - quiet, breathy, a little bit cruel - and she almost hadn't realized just how close he was until the force of his breath began to swirl the hair at the nape of her neck, sending a shudder through her that threatens to uncoil all that tension and rebuild it into something even more fragile. his hand curls over her shoulder, fingertips brushing against her collarbone as his thumb presses along the line of pearls that rest against her neck. beth exhales, and the motion of it somehow brings them closer, his warmth enveloping her in an almost suffocating way. it's too much, too overwhelming, too impossible, and she wants to whirl around and tell him just that, to yell at him for scaring her, for making her believe he was dead, for putting the damn gun in her hand - for all of it, for all of it.

there's no room for her words between them, though, and while she's still trying to gather them up, get a good grip on them long enough to have them make sense and find a way past her lips, he's leaning closer, cutting her off before she's even begun.

"miss me?"

there's something heart-wrenching about the way his voice comes out soft and caressing across the shell of her ear. it feels too much like a lover's touch ( too much like a time before - before he'd told her she was nothing, before he'd handed her a weapon, before she.. before ) and beth swallows down a sound that wants to be a scoff but that's very pointedly threatening to become a sob, and she can't - she can't.

it doesn't matter.

none of it matters. none of the words lodged in her throat, the feelings brought on by his nearness, his touch. none of it matters because as quickly as he'd appeared behind her, he's gone - and all of that warmth and fear is replaced with cold confusion.

she does turn, then, not surprised to find nothing - no one in the vicinity, no recognizable retreating form.

he'd been there, touching her, whispering to her, and just as easily as he'd wedged himself into her happy day, just as easily as he'd turned her voice into nothing and her limbs too stiff to function - just as easily as all that, he'd disappeared again.

she all but collapses against the wall that holds scarves and purses separating the girls' section from the women's, and beth doesn't care that he can probably see her - or probably has someone watching her - even after his retreat. she doesn't care that she looks ragged in the glimpse she catches from a mirror across the way. she doesn't care that her breathing is labored and her skin is dotted with goosebumps, her body finally having an appropriate reaction now that he's long gone.

when she unclenches her fist - one she hadn't realized she'd been making - beth finds the barrette set broken in her hand, the plastic having left ugly red marks behind on her skin, proof of her too-tight grip on the little pastel hair clips. she rubs the thumb of her other hand over the indentations, frowning a little bit.

she doesn't mind the pain, though, thinks it might be the first thing she's felt in months.


	3. Chapter 3

she thinks maybe she's losing her mind.

once the red marks on her palm have faded into nothing ( it doesn't take long, and she almost misses them when they're gone ), and she receives no other visits, no other gifts, no other indication of his presence, beth thinks maybe she'd imagined the whole thing. just another way for her mind to keep her gripped in the aftermath of what she'd done.

she'd read something in a book one time - a long time ago, after her father was gone and their mother had withdrawn inside herself - that grief manifests in different ways for different people. some people get angry, some people seemingly check out of reality ( this was the one that applied to her mother ), some people live in denial. in that last category, there had been accounts of people seeing, speaking to, touching their dead loved ones. it was a staggering number, too, something like up to 60 percent of people having experienced the phenomenon. at the time, even as a child, beth had found the concept utterly ridiculous.

but now, she finds herself looking it up in her adult life, when the thought of his touch against her shoulder seems to linger day after day, and finds that it's a real thing - something called a post-bereavement hallucinatory experience - something similar to flashbacks experienced by those suffering from PTSD.

she thinks maybe she falls into both categories, and her hands shake as she closes the laptop, pushing it slowly away.

so maybe she's losing her mind. maybe that would be easier.

she could start seeing a therapist, look into some kind of medication, there are treatments for things like this. there have to be. there has to be something more than the frantic way she whips around every time someone brushes by her on the street, or in a store, or at the park. there has to be something more than the way her nerves are unraveling like a thread pulled from an old ball of yarn, falling into piles on the floor. there has to be something more.

but the problem is - she can still feel the warmth of him, can still smell the scent of him, hear the sound of his laughter, the roughness to his voice when he asked if she missed him. she hadn't seen him, but beth is hard-pressed to admit that he wasn't really there. it was all too real, too familiar, too consuming.

she still hasn't told her sister, or ruby, and has no immediate plans to do so. but dean has the kids this weekend, and as she sits there in her kitchen staring at the laptop warily like it might slide forward and bite her, the emptiness of the house begins to feel unbearable.

a few texts later, and the house is a little fuller, her heart a little warmer.

* * *

"no way annie, we are not watching cabin in the woods again! pick something funny, we need funny."

ruby's voice is a harsh whisper from the living room, and beth rolls her eyes because everything about ruby is loud - her voice, her personality, her love, and even her whispers - and she's crazy if she thinks she can't be heard from right in the kitchen. still, she appreciates her best friend's ability to read the tone of this girls' night request, even if beth hadn't provided much by way of explanation.

( she doesn't really need to, not often, not with them )

"what are you talking about, cabin in the woods is funny ! it's, like, poking fun at all of the horror genres, it's hilarious." and annie has a point, there, but beth has also seen it more times than anyone should ever need to ( but far fewer times than her sister has ), so she mentally votes no as she goes about preparing snacks.

"what about ocean's eight? badass women cleaning house - what's not to like?" beth tilts her head to try and hear annie's response to that, because her sister, at least, seems to understand how whispering works ( much to her current dismay ). still, she makes out what sounds like a little too close to home, and rolls her eyes again.

beth doesn't hear the rest of the debate because her oven dings at that moment, and she goes to pull the nachos out. they're perfect, cheese just melted, chips crispy, and she goes about arranging them on a serving plate with all of the toppings. there's popcorn, too - made with ranch butter because that's a brilliant idea they had a decade ago that has never stopped being the right choice. and she has some cookies ready to go into the oven later when they feel like something sweet. it's helpful - the baking, the organizing - therapeutic, even, though she still thinks seeing someone, talking to someone, might be a good idea.

setting the nachos on the coffee table, she takes the remote from annie's hand which earns her a huff of annoyance until ruby shoots annie a glare and shuts her up. they both smile at her and beth has had enough.

"oh my god, you guys, i'm fine, can you please stop treating me like i'm fragile?!"

she's still standing, one hand finding a perch on her hip while the other waves the remote like some sort of weapon, and both of them are sitting and staring up at her before looking back and forth between one another as though they're trying to figure out what to say. she sighs, exasperated, and throws her hands up in the air. "what ?"

ruby's eyes are wide, and annie's are worried, and beth is about to reiterate her what when ruby clears her throat to speak. "it's just -" she drops down to a whisper "- you killed a man, beth. and you've been, you know, not fine, and"

"and that's totally understandable!" annie interjects, and beth turns to face her sister who's looking at her like she's waiting for a bomb to explode out of her stomach, like they've been planning an intervention for a while now, and just hadn't expected it to happen now, and have no clue how she's going to react. and that's what this is, she realizes, an intervention. absurdly, beth laughs. "guys, honestly, i'm fine, it was months ago." as though there's an expiration date on grief or guilt or the feeling that comes from squeezing a trigger and watching - as if in slow motion - the impact of the bullet in the chest of the man you think you might have l-

but no, she's not going there.

"oh, it was months ago," ruby mocks, and beth's eyes slide back over to her, a helpless sort of look that seems to say give me a break, please, but ruby isn't having it. "beth. this wasn't a breakup, it's not just gonna take a few months, you killed a man," she says it again, leaning forward on the couch as though closer proximity might drive the words home. and beth doesn't need them driven home, she knows what she did, she knows how it looked, sounded, felt, smelled ( they don't tell you there's a smell. you don't hear it from the books or the movies that something happens when a bullet tears through flesh that sort of taints the air ). she knows what she lost, and what she gained. and no amount of intervention is going to make a difference.

something must have changed in beth's expression, because ruby softens and annie takes the hand that's not clinging to the remote. "hey," it's gentle, like she's trying to coax something out of her big sister, and it's too much. she swallows thickly, letting the laughter bubble up from her throat - manic and hysterical - before she's swallowing again, pulling her hand free from annie's grasp and sinking into the loveseat.

"let's watch pretty woman, the nachos are going to get cold."

she only sort of catches the look shared between annie and ruby, like they're debating letting it go but don't really want to. something must have been communicated, though, because by the time beth finds the movie and pops it into the dvd player, annie is already munching on nachos and ruby is grabbing the bottle of wine to top off her glasses.

and okay, she thinks, she can do this.

* * *

it's well after midnight by the time the girls leave, and beth is just drunk enough to not care about the empty house.

there had been a moment - somewhere after the second movie - that she'd been certain they were going to try the intervention thing again. so beth had pulled out a bottle of vodka from the freezer and suggested shots. it had been the best bad idea she'd had all month, and it had quickly stopped any lectures in their tracks. now, with another glass of wine in her hand, and as she locks the door behind annie - who had hung back just long enough to grab a tupperware full of leftover cookies to take home with her - beth feels a little wobbly on her feet.

there's something satisfying about the click of the lock as she turns it, running her hand along the wooden panel and just sort of feeling the cool smoothness of it. she turns to arm the alarm and then laughs out loud. "what's the point?" she asks an empty house, a security panel for an alarm that won't keep anyone out that matters, and a dead man who just won't leave her alone.

"what indeed?"

the glass crashes to the floor, and she's only vaguely aware of the way the liquid splashes over her toes. she doesn't like the way it feels, and her mouth twists into a frown.

her brain isn't quite catching up with the sequence of events, and she blinks toward the hallway where the voice had been. but it's dark, and the light in the foyer shines over her in a way that makes the rest of the house sort of halo-rimmed, and somehow she has enough sense to know that any step forward will result in glass tearing through feet covered in nothing but thin socks. so she stands still, stares down at the broken glass at her feet, momentarily mesmerized by the way the shards glimmer under the light from the lamp, and when she looks up again, the hall doesn't look quite so dark.

she still can't see anyone.

"wh-who's there?" she asks in a voice too quiet, too weak, too brokento intimidate anyone. the problem is, she already knows - already knows that voice intimately, knows the way it wraps around her name like spun sugar, how it reaches deep into her belly and reminds her that she's not okay, that she does miss him, that she needs him, she needs him ( despite her words to the contrary, despite the way she's been holding it together ). she bites back a sob, and hears the laugh - so quiet, almost too quiet to make out, almost quiet enough that she could file it away as another figment of her imagination. and she really is losing it, she thinks, if insanity is an acceptable excuse.

but what's the alternative.

the alarm - she realizes the panel is in arm's reach, she could just -

"nah, don't do that."

he's closer now, as made clear by the sound of his voice, but she still can't see him and that's probably on purpose. and how did he even - ? "i see you lookin' at it, sweetheart, trust me, it won't end well." of course, she's practically under a spotlight here, under the bright light of the entryway he can probably see every hesitation, every line, every dark circle painting itself under her eyes. she wonders if he cares. but then, she'd put all of those things there with her own hand.

a shuddering sigh escapes her, and beth closes her eyes.

glass crunches underneath his feet - she can hear it so loudly, as though it's happening inside her head - and then she feels him close to her, and her eyes prick with tears. he doesn't touch her, and beth wonders if he's waiting for her to open her eyes and look at him, to see the truth of it ( of her insanity, or of his living, breathing self, she's not sure ). she doesn't, she keeps them squeezed shut as though he might disappear into the darkness behind her eyelids. but a single tear forces its way through her tightly closed lids and down her cheek. her breath catches in her throat when he brushes it away with his thumb, lingering there as though there's something he needs to say or do - maybe he's come to finish her off, finally. maybe she'd welcome the escape.

and then his hand is gone, his warmth is gone, and all she feels is his breath against her ear again as he whispers -

"careful, ma. don't wanna cut yourself."

she doesn't heard the door open, doesn't hear it close, but she knows when he's gone, and beth lets out a sob once she feels the absence of him.

her head is still swimming with alcohol and despair and confusion by the time she makes it to her bedroom.

she does end up cutting herself - has several cuts on her feet by the time she gets out of the foyer - but beth doesn't really care.


	4. Chapter 4

the hardest and most time-consuming part of purchasing the building that would become their new base of operations had been finding the right real estate agent with the right kind of questionable professional ethics and the willingness to accept a cash bribe for his discretion.

after that, it had just been a couple of signatures, some money changing hands, and they were on their way to being back in business. it had almost been too simple — so simple, in fact, that beth almost felt like it had been too good to be true. but maybe the universe had finally decided she was due some sort of break. maybe there was actually a bit of easy on the horizon.

it had been ruby's idea, sort of. after beth's spread for the cops and feds — the almost all night and day task of baking a feast for the witnesses to her murder confession — after the relief had washed over all of them and they'd sat down to the leftovers — ruby had looked at beth seriously and asked why she never considered making a career out of her hobby.

and, really, it had completely blindsided her — not the idea, but the fact that she'd never even thought of it.

she'd been too busy being a mom, and coordinating carpool, and working out scheduling with dean, that beth hadn't even realized that the answer to their money problems might have been right in front of her all along. not that it would be that easy — it wasn't as though beth had any sort of credit, or legitimate capital for use in starting a business. and most businesses — especially in food service — took at least a year to turn a profit, often more.

but beth didn't need to put forth her own savings, she had a storage unit filled with fake cash. all she had to do was find someone stupid enough to take it without asking questions. and from there, the profit margins weren't that much of a concern if they continued their other business on the back end.

it had taken only a few conversations between the girls to begin laying out the plans. the bakery would be a legit — on paper — by the book establishment where she would create and sell her confections and pastries, some coffees and teas ( she still had a contract with the supplier they'd used for the dealership's re-branding ), and do her absolute best to make a real profit out of it.

the space upstairs — apartments that they would have inspected, fixed up if necessary, and deemed ready for lease — would house the rest of the operation, which would just be the cash, ( for now ).

of course, this had all been decided before beth had begun seeing ghosts.

* * *

"i don't know, you guys, i feel like it's just too risky to get back into it right now."

this is — predictably — met with shocked expressions from both ruby and annie.

"okay, so let me get this straight," ruby begins, and annie leans her chin into her hand as she looks between the women, undoubtedly excited for some kind of dramatic exchange. "we just signed the paperwork, we're almost all ready to go, and you want to just... not do this?" her voice is quiet, but there's an undercurrent of frustration that flows beneath the words, and beth frowns. "beth, i have been talking about this bakery for weeks, building it up so stan doesn't get suspicious. you know we still need the money — especially with him back to that damn security job — but i promised him i was done with the whole crime life, so your bakery front has got to work."

annie hums in agreement, and beth turns her head to look at her sister. "look, is this, like, another piano sitch? because let me tell you, sadie's meds ain't cheap and i was doing research on what comes after that —" she whistles, wide-eyed, and shakes her head. "beth there's no way i can make this happen for him on what i make at the store. this was supposed to be our way out of the rut, what's gotten into you?"

beth sighs, turning to lean against the edge of the kitchen sink, her gaze flitting across the lawn, lingering on the picnic table, half expecting to see him there.

"i've been — seeing rio."

there are two shocked gasps behind her and ruby says "he's alive ?" in a shrill voice, at the same time as annie chimes in with "like his ghost ?" squeezing her eyes shut, beth pinches at the bridge of her nose, as though she might stop the headache that threatens to spread behind her eyes. "i don't know," she says finally — truthfully — after a pause that's so long and so quiet, she almost thinks her friends have disappeared and she'll turn around to an empty kitchen. but when she opens her eyes and turns. both ruby and annie are staring at her with shocked expressions, waiting for more information.

"i was thinking of making an appointment with a therapist, but then — " she trails off, and the other two lean forward as if hanging on the edges of their seats, curious as to where the story might take them.

so she tells it all — the pearls, her shopping trip to target, the presence of him in her house only a couple of nights before after their girls' night.

"but you didn't actually — like actually see him?" annie's brows furrow and she's looking at her older sister as though she might have a screw loose, like the story had been ridiculous and how could beth not see that? but beth can see it, it just doesn't make her feel any better.

she's about to say something stupid like you had to be there ( because how can she explain the way the air changes around her when he's near, or the too-real warmth of him, or his scent, or his touch — all things that had been too tangible to deny ? ) when she opts for a quick shake of her head, instead.

"oh, honey, you've been through something so difficult," ruby tries in her softest voice. but it's too much, too sympathetic, too pitying, and beth feels suffocated by it. she doesn't find the words to counter those of her best friend, though, and ruby continues. "it's probably just taking a toll, and all of this talk about business — the plans being put into motion — it's probably tossing it all right back to the front of your mind." and that makes sense, beth thinks, her frown deepening.

"yeah, maybe — maybe i will make an appointment to talk to someone."

annie's hand comes up quickly, eyes bugging out with alarm. "but you're not gonna tell them you killed a dude, right? 'cause i'm pretty sure they, like, have to report shit like that." beth rolls her eyes, sighing. "of course not, annie, i'm not an idiot." she watches her younger sister almost deflate with her relief, an audible phew as she wipes the back of her hand over her forehead dramatically. "okay, good, you scared me for a sec there." beth shakes her head, and they move on to more pleasant subjects.

* * *

the thing is, finding a therapist in detroit with any openings for new clients is apparently impossible, and after countless phone calls, the soonest she can see someone is still over a month away.

she makes the appointment anyway, writing it on her wall calendar as well as typing it into her phone.

with setting up the business and everything, there will be other things to distract her in the meantime, beth thinks, a little unconvinced, but not undeterred.

* * *

three days later, beth meets with the agent for a final time, picks up the keys, and finds herself standing in front of her new building less than an hour later. it needs some work, but at the end of the day, it looks solid and full of potential.

she almost smiles a genuine smile as she unlocks the door for the first time, walking in, and setting her purse on the surface that they'll have to either fix up or tear out in order to set up the counter. her hand trails over it, anyway, and beth barley notices the dust that comes off on her fingertips.

it's a little strange, having something that's hers, after living so long for dean, for her children. at the end of the day, this is still for her children, but it's also for her, and beth is determined not to take that for granted. she can already see it coming to life under her gaze, imagines a case filled with pastries, the smell of fresh sweets and fresh coffee wafting through the air, a line out the door. this is a front, sure, but it's also a place to house and showcase her craft — something she's truly good at — and that sparks a bit of pride in her chest, even before they've started.

she's already done a walk-through of the space, but never alone, so shes grinning as she ventures into the back room, flipping on the light and sweeping her gaze around, taking in her new place — her new business. there are a couple of stainless tables left by the previous owners, and beth knows that with a little cleaning she'll be able to make good use of them. in the corner, there are a collection of wooden milk crates — some stacked, some tumbling over each other haphazardly. annie had suggested creating something out of them, said they're all the rage, and with beth's crafting skills she could probably make some rustic looking shelves for the front room. they'd all agreed that whatever they could salvage that might save them some money had to be worth it.

her smile fades, curling downward as beth catches a glimpse of a crate that has been pulled out from the group, sitting against the back wall. her heart is beating rapidly, and she can feel the cold sweat that starts at the back of her neck and across her forehead.

"what the f-"

the question is interrupted by the vibration of her phone in her pocket, and beth pulls it out, scowls at the screen, and puts it up to her ear. "what is it, dean?"

"bethie —" his voice is a tinny annoyance in her ear as he prattles on about how he'll be late picking up the kids after school — some work thing that ran over — and can she do it for him as a favor, just this once ? she doesn't have the energy to argue with him, remind him that this is by no means the first time, and that she'd had plans this afternoon. in fact, beth doesn't have the energy to respond with much more than a sound of quiet assent as she backs slowly out of the back room, hitting the light before turning to leave the store, locking the door behind her.

she leaves the bottle of bourbon in its corner, on its milk crate, and vows to not think of it again.

* * *

to her credit, it almost works — treating the most recent in a series of familiar gifts as her mind playing tricks on her — made even easier by the fact that the bottle is no longer there the next time she enters the building.

this time she has ruby and annie with her, and beth does her best not to make a beeline for the back room just to peep at that one corner in the back, and see if it remains. instead, she walks through the space, turning on lights and setting down cleaning supplies, pulling the paper covering from the windows to let in some natural light, smiling at the way it dances across the old tile floors, bursts of sunshine dancing over the walls. and only then — once they're ready to begin working — does she venture into the back.

the lights blink once before settling on after she flips the switch, and while not exactly surprised, beth is almost disappointed to find the milk crate right where it had been during her previous visit but missing the bottle of bourbon.

she huffs out a sigh, blinks a couple of times, and shakes her head at her own growing insanity.

"hey, b — where do you want us to start?" ruby calls from the front, and beth cuts the lights off again — leaving the back room for another day — before joining her and annie in the front and grabbing a rag to begin wiping down surfaces. she smiles as she stands framed by the doorway, looking at the small space with that same feeling of pride blooming in her chest. "let's start polishing until she shines."


End file.
